Precious Gems
by Channel D
Summary: The team travels to Botswana, in southern Africa, on a case involving three drowned sailors in a land-locked country. Written for the NFA L'Opération Etrangère challenge. 5 chapters; I will post one a day.
1. Chapter 1

**Precious Gems**

by channelD

_written for:_ the NFA _L'Opération Etrangère_ Challenge. The challenge was to send the team out of the United States on a case.  
_rating:_ K plus  
_genre:_ case file, adventure, humor

- - - - -

_disclaimer:_ I still own zilch of NCIS.

- - - - -

**Prologue**

The medical examiner got to his feet, brushing the ever-present dust off his knees. "Yes, I think that does it. It is the same as the other two poor fellows we found this morning."

"A shame that the scavengers had gotten to the bodies first. There is no doubt in your mind?" asked the police sergeant.

"None. These men, American sailors by their dog tags, I think, drowned."

"Drowned. Here, at the edge of the Kalahari desert!"

- - - - -

**Chapter One**

"_Diamonds!"_ Tony cried with assurance. "You just _know_ that's got to be it! Botswana's _loaded_ with diamond mines."

The team looked up at him, from where they were processing the site of where body #1 had been found. The hot Botswana sun bore down on them, although it was barely 9 a.m. "I must be still jetlagged," Tim sighed as he held down a camera. "I thought Tony just made a total non-sequitor about diamonds."

"Which we were not talking about at all," Ziva agreed, picking up minute things with her gloved hands and dropping them into evidence bags.

Gibbs, who had been chatting with Laurence Umangwa, the cattle rancher on whose property one of the bodies had been found, and Robert Majafhe, their guide from the City Liaison Program, leaned into the conversation with a slight smile. "What's this about diamonds, DiNozzo?"

It had been a long journey to Botswana, an arid country in southern Africa: 17-plus hours by air, allowing for the change of planes in Johannesburg. Already almost three days had elapsed since the bodies of the three US Navy sailors had been discovered. All three seamen, men who'd met and become fast friends on the USS _Caygul_, had been on a week's leave. African-Americans, they'd told their other friends on the ship they wanted to do a little Africa touristing, and maybe find a clue as to their roots. The _Caygul_, part of the Africa Partnership Station program, was helping some west African nations acquire leadership skills, but it was far, far away, off the coast of Ghana. A landlocked country like Botswana shouldn't figure in the picture.

Botswana was an appealing country for tourists, though. It had been a peaceful democracy for over 40 years. Guided safaris showcased magnificent wild animals. Though dry, and hot most of the time, the weather was tolerable. Gaborone, the capitol city located on the eastern border of the country, was a fast-growing city with many modern Western amenities. While there was only one TV station, the internet abounded and cell phones were ubiquitous. There were still limits to the growth, however; here, at this cattle ranch about 15 miles outside the city limit, cell phone reception was spotty and often impossible. Outside the cities, landline phones still ruled.

And so as Tony reached for his phone to take yet another reading of the local temperature, and found only one weak, fluttering, bar, he sighed before he answered. "It seems only logical, doesn't it, boss? Botswana's wealth is in its diamond trade. Our seamen somehow got caught up in diamond smuggling—maybe that's what brought them here. And someone rubbed them out."

The rancher Umangwa, whose English was a little stilted, looked puzzled at the phrase _rubbed them out_, while Majafhe, the guide, frowned and then laughed. "There is much more to our country than the diamond mines, _Rra_ (Mister) DiNozzo. The average person has no contact with the diamonds. We take pride in our families, our communities, and the bounty of nature."

"Not that you can trade any of those on the black market, much less the open market," Tony persisted. "Except for the wild animals."

"We are very hard on poachers," said Umangwa. "Even though the animals sometimes threaten my cattle, they are just doing as God made them to do. I do not hate them for that. They are beautiful, in their way."

Tony smiled one of his patient smiles. "You know better than I do, _Rra_ Umangwa." Privately, he was sure he was right…it would all come down to precious gems.

Tim got up and went to the pasture fence. Not far away, brown cattle grazed with seemingly no concerns. "What a fine-looking herd," said Tim. He really knew nothing about cattle, but felt it was a kind thing to say. The cattleman beamed, and Tim felt he'd made a friend.

"Our cattle are another source of our pride," said Majafhe. "In another 20, 30 years it may be different, but right now a family's wealth might be measured in its cattle. It is often still a part of marriage contracts."

"There are worse things that could be exchanged," Tim smiled. The team was packing up to go. "_Sala sentle_, (Good bye)" he said to the rancher—Tim had put the most time into learning Setswana language phrases in the six hours' notice the team had had before getting on the plane, and was dubbed the team's expert. Maybe some good would come out of it. Letting Tony go off and pack for him—meaning that Tony had included the pair of boxers covered with _Hello Kittys_ that his sister Sarah had given him as a gag—was not a good thing. Things had to get better.

- - - - -

The site of the second and third bodies yielded next to no more information. The bodies had, of course, bent sent to the local morgue upon discovery, and while there had been no rain, mild wind had doubtless disturbed the sites a little. All bodies had been found not far from asphalt roads, and even Ziva's expert tracking skills were unable to pull up useable footprints from the scrub brush here at the edge of the Kalahari Desert.

- - - - -

She was a formidable-looking woman, this Dikeledi Motalaote, the assistant chief of police. Tall and heavy-seat, she might not even need to carry a firearm to scare criminals into surrendering. _She's probably meek as a mouse and has a heart of gold_, Tony thought as they stood in her office later that day. _Or maybe not_. Her glare could melt an iceberg.

"You were to report directly to me upon your arrival in Gaborone, _Rra_ Agent Gibbs," she thundered. "And yet here I find that your plane got in _last night!"_

"Sorry," said Gibbs, who rarely used the word. This was a clue to his team that something was up. "There must have been a misunderstanding. I'd thought our embassy would be in touch with you. I haven't figured out how to use your telephones yet."

The woman looked a little mollified. "It is I who should apologize," she then said. "We do not treat guests to our country badly. I have here copies of the evidence reports our sheriff made. If there is anything else I can do to help you…"

"Just give our medical examiners access to the bodies."

"Oh. I had assumed that you would be taking them back to America right away. Our medical examiner has already done a preliminary inspection. There can be no doubt that they drowned."

Ducky, from the back of the pack, touched Jimmy Palmer's arm to indicate he should stay quiet. "Madam, the longer we wait, the harder it will be for us to determine anything. It is not desirable to hold off until we are back in the US."

_Mma_ (Madam) Motalaote took on a stubborn look again. "It is as I have told you. They drowned."

"Yes, but we hope to determine how—why—by whose hand."

"Is there a water source around here, _Mma_ Motalaote?" asked Gibbs, after giving Ducky an eye.

"No. That is the strange thing," she said. "As you have seen, our country is quite dry, except during the rainy season. You would have to go into the northwest, to the Okavango Delta, to find water."

"Imagine that," said Tony in a low tone to Ziva. "Not having to keep an umbrella in your car year-round."

"Nor being unable to use _traffic-delayed-by-rain_ as an excuse of being late to work," she rejoined, enjoying his wince.

The room was almost pleasant under the grinding of the window air-conditioner, though with six NCISers, Majafhe and Motalaote, it was warm. Motalaote fanned herself with what looked like a government report. "Yes, you should go to your sailors, then. God rest their souls. My aide will direct you to the morgue."

- - - - -

The team all followed the aide to the city morgue, although Majafhe, looking a little green, found a reason to stay outside, and the aide slipped away at the earliest opportunity.

The bodies were in the unusual state (for NCIS) of having been mauled by scavenger birds and animals. Not used to this desecration, the non-medical members of NCIS were a little queasy at the autopsy start, but tried to hide their revulsion. Seeing this, Ducky said, "Go; go; have dinner. I don't expect that Palmer and I will be more than an hour or two; we'll grab something when we're done."

"Can you find your way around the city and back to the hotel okay, Duck?" asked Gibbs.

"Most assuredly, Jethro! I have traveled the world over; my sense of direction is excellent. I can't speak for Palmer here. Anyway, I love sampling native wares."

"Maybe we can find a sushi place!" Jimmy said eagerly, and promptly withered under the glares.

"English being the second language here, we shall have no trouble hailing a cab for our return," Ducky continued. "We'll call you when we know something, or before we set back."

- - - - -

To their surprise, the restaurant that their guide, Majafhe took them to—his favorite, he said—was an Italian place. "There will be time for you to try our native food later, if you wish," he grinned. "You will be here a few days, correct?"

"Don't know how long," said Gibbs. "We'll be here until the job is done."

"Do we, uh, have to admit to Ducky and Palmer that we had linguini and chicken mozzarella and such for dinner?" Tim asked no one in particular. "They're going to expect that we, uh…"

Majafhe grinned. "If it is that important to you, I can write down the names of some local dishes. Your doctor need never know different."

Gibbs smirked, but took the paper from Majafhe when he was done writing. "I suppose we should try the real thing tomorrow."

- - - - -

Night cooled the air just a little; being a city, it was bound to retain much of its heat. Majafhe, driving the van as he had since their arrival in the city, dropped them off at the hotel, wished them a good night's sleep, and promised to pick them up at 9 the next morning.

The hotel was a delight in its modern, central air-conditioning. The team had taken three rooms: a double for Gibbs and Ducky; a small suite for Tim, Tony and Jimmy, and a small single for Ziva.

Tony burst into Gibbs' room seconds after their splitting off. "Boss! Our room's been ransacked!"

Gibbs was already pulling gloves on, surveying the destruction to his own room. "Is that a fact, DiNozzo?" he said calmly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

There was not much to tell from the sacking of the three hotel rooms. They lifted fingerprints, but Gibbs held off on doing anything with them: they certainly didn't have access to Botswana's fingerprint database, and there was no point on bringing the authorities in unless there was reason to believe a serious crime had been committed. They could find nothing missing. The cameras had been with them, and the two laptops had been chained down and were password-protected. What the intruders had been after, they couldn't fathom.

"Garden-variety thieves," Tim mused. "Probably looking for gold or jewels."

Ziva came out of her room. "In the movies, is there not a warning sign, to try to make the, ah, 'good guys' give up and go away?"

Tony laughed. "Sometimes. But this isn't a movie, Ziva."

She eyed him and frowned. "But this is a real note." She held out a scrap of paper in her gloved hands.

_Stop now, or the waters will come for you, as well._

"Interesting sentence structure," Tim remarked. "The 'as well' ending doesn't sound like American usage."

"Why only Ziva's room?" Tony wondered. "Are they afraid of her?" He snickered and then doubled over when she whacked him in the stomach. "Well, I would be," he wheezed.

"Stop clowning around and check your room for a note," Gibbs ordered. "Ziva, help me check my room."

No other notes turned up, though. This was not especially comforting; there might be something hidden in a place they hadn't thought of…something more like a booby trap. Although they hadn't done it the night before, feeling in no danger at the time, this time they swept the three rooms for bugging devices, and found them in the handsets of each of the rooms' telephones.

"We'll have to recheck the place every day, when we return," Gibbs sighed. "McGee, get me a vid connection to NCIS. I should let the Director know what's going on."

"On it, boss." Tim tapped at the computer, checked the settings, tapped some more, and they were in.

Ducky and Jimmy called to say they were on their way back, and returned within minutes. At the back of the room, Tim and Ziva quietly filled them in on what had happened while Gibbs spoke to Jenny over the computer connection.

"A burglary! In such a four-star hotel as this!" Ducky murmured. "Why, I should think we would want to speak to the manager straightaway!"

"If we don't, and don't call attention to ourselves, are we telling the crooks that we're not afraid of them…or that we're too afraid to do anything?" Jimmy wondered, and then blushed as they all looked at him.

But sometimes Jimmy was more profound than he knew. Tony smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good thinking, Palmer. So…did you two get to sample some of the local delicacies?"

"Why, er, the lamb is to die for," said Ducky. "So moist and tender…"

"Are they serving lamb now at McDonald's?" Ziva smiled, seeing the 32-ounce cup that Jimmy was hiding halfway behind his back.

"I told you to throw that away before we got back to the hotel!" Ducky hissed to his assistant.

"I'm sorry, Doctor! It's so dry here, and I'm still so thirsty!" Jimmy took a slurp on the drink.

"We, uh, had Italian," Tim admitted. "But tomorrow, for sure, we're going native."

"As will we," said Ducky.

- - - - -

Ziva came into Gibbs and Ducky's room, bearing a map. "Our assistant police chief was not all that honest with us, Gibbs," she said. "I thought I had remembered seeing this earlier. Although this is a very arid country, there _is_ water not too far away. Gaborone Dam, south of the city. Access is a little restricted, but there is certainly enough water there to drown people. Why would she lie?"

"Maybe she wasn't lying," said Tony, thoughtfully, joining them. "A dam in a desert country? It's probably guarded as tightly as Fort Knox. She may have considered the possibility of getting in to be too remote to be worth mentioning."

"Maybe," said Gibbs, but he didn't sound convinced.

Ducky used the second laptop to transmit queries and samples back to Abby at NCIS HQ. It was a cumbersome business; they had no access to a computer at the city morgue. He had made observations, sketches, and taken photos of samples from the morgue's microscope. He hoped it would be enough.

On the other end, Abby acknowledged getting the data. "It would have been more fun if you'd allowed me to come along," she groused.

"Your company would have been delightful, dear girl," Ducky said, smiling. "But how could you work in the lab and be here at the same time."

"Oh, good point," she said. "I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

"What have you learned so far?" Gibbs asked the medical examiner. As night tightened, even a large city like Gaborone started to slow its pace. In the adjacent small suite, Tony and Ziva were playing cards while Tim practiced his Setswana and Jimmy surfed the net.

"The men did indeed drown, Jethro. All had abrasions on the wrists consistent with rope ties. There were no other marks indicating a struggle. All had signs of a blow to the head. We'll have to wait until Abby replies, but I think we'll find that they were knocked unconscious, and their heads held under water. This was definitely murder. Not that I really ever _believed_ that they drowned themselves and headed back to Gaborone."

Gibbs sighed. "Time of death?"

"Hard to say, considering the desecration done by the local wildlife. Around 96 hours ago is the closest I can come."

"Thanks, Duck." Gibbs strode into the next room. "Off the computer, Palmer. I need McGee on it."

"Uh, sure, boss," said Tim, settling into the chair Jimmy had just vacated. "What am I looking for?"

"Trace our seamen's movements since they left the Caygul. Get their travel itineraries, their train tickets, their cab rides, their receipts for chewing gum—whatever. DiNozzo, David—prepare to start making phone calls. Find out who they talked with here, where they stayed; get inside their heads."

Tony looked up with a faint grin. "And what will you be doing, boss?"

"Out looking for a good cup of coffee."

- - - - -

Shortly, Tim had traced the seamen's uncomplicated route to Gaborone, and their short stay at a more modest hotel, where the three had shared one room. Tony and Ziva hustled to the hotel's site about a mile away, where they soon reported back by phone.

"The manager let us into the room," said Tony. "He was unaware of the deaths. The room was still rented to them."

"And?"

"We found brochures for local tourist attractions. But the one really interesting one was the one connected with cabin rental in the Okavango Delta. Particularly since there are also brochures for small plane flights in and out of there, and notes scratched about it. And a half-written postcard to 'Ma' back home talking about looking forward to seeing animals in the wild."

"Sounds like the dam is out," said Gibbs. "Come on back; we'll get a start in the morning."

"Ah…where are we going, boss?"

"The Okavango Delta. Bring a camera. Maybe we'll get to see some animals."

- - - - -

Abby had sent them results overnight, while they still slept. The group had breakfast sent up to their room so they could be on their way as soon as possible. Ducky read from the computer over his cup of tea. "Minute, microscopic organisms found in the lungs, consisted with a very microbe-rich environment. That's your Okavango Delta, Jethro. You don't find that much diversity in the waters around a dam. I think the delta is your place of death."

Gibbs nodded. "McGee, call and confirm the four seats on the West Wings plane company that we booked last night. When Majafhe comes, someone make sure he's not afraid to fly. Or be prepared to get him some airsick pills."

Tony blinked. "Four seats, boss? With Majafhe, that's five of us."

"McGee's not going," said Gibbs, giving Tim a look of steel. "I need someone to stay here and be our connection to Washington, and to find answers if we phone in questions."

Tim looked nonplussed, but nodded. "Will cell phones work out there, in the Delta, boss?"

"We'll find out, won't we?"

- - - - -

Tim was left alone in the hotel when Gibbs and the team left, followed soon after by Ducky and Palmer. The latter two hoped to wrap up their work today and head back to NCIS with the bodies, since a military transport was available that night.

_There are worse places to be cooped up in than a nice hotel with central a-c and room service,_ Tim thought as he sent a cheery email to Abby. He waited and waited for a response until he realized it wasn't even 6 a.m. in Washington. Even Abby didn't get in that early.

He put his mind to one of the puzzles of the investigation. If the seamen had been drowned at the dam, it wasn't too far a drive north to Gaborone. There was some sense to a murder plan like that.

If, however, they'd died in the Delta…someone would have had to make a fast plane trip back here with the bodies to lessen decomposition. Somewhere was a plane pilot who'd accept a cargo of three bodies with no questions asked. Probably for a large payment. Maybe in diamonds, as Tony seemed fixated on.

Online, he pulled up a list of small plane operators out of the Gaborone airport who flew to the Delta and then called the airport. Time to narrow the search.

- - - - -

Unlike the rest of Botswana, in the Delta the countryside was verdant. Swamps, lakes, rivers all fed tall trees and meadows. Tony exclaimed on seeing, he believed, a pride of lions from the air.

"Perhaps you did, perhaps you did not," Majafhe laughed. "They are good at hiding themselves if they wish. There are many things that look like, ah, 'tawny' in color."

"Doesn't matter," Tony said stubbornly. "I have my camera. I _will_ find something to shoot."

"Not here to sightsee, DiNozzo," Gibbs remarked.

"No, boss." Tony put his camera away and tried to fix the location of the lions in his mind.

- - - - -

When they landed, Majafhe handled the arrangements of transportation to their lodging. The small lodge was a pretty, light-colored affair, slightly European in style, flocked by shady trees. This was a different heat here: in some ways, the humidity of the Delta was more overpowering than the dry city. The shade made a lot of difference.

With only two rooms available, Ziva agreed to share a room with Tony—warning him, publicly, that she slept with a knife under her pillow. "Don't give it another thought," he said, fingering the mosquito netting over the beds. "I think it will take me twenty minutes to get out of this, once I'm in. You could be well on your way back to Gaborone by then."

She chuckled, but sobered when Gibbs came in, looking grim.

"Majafhe and I made inquiries at the front office," he said. "The company that owns this lodge owns the identical one down the path. That's where our seamen have their room booked."

"Had."

"No, David; _have_. No one's told them that the men are dead yet."

Ziva turned her knife over in her hands. "That does not make sense, Gibbs. The seamen died four days ago. Has not the management been concerned about their absence, here in the wilderness? Anything could have happened to them."

"Go check it out. Take DiNozzo and Majafhe. I'll call McGee and let him know what's going on."

- - - - -

"You haven't narrowed down the plane company yet, McGee?" Gibbs' thunder came out of the receiver on the room phone.

"No, not yet, boss," Tim said loudly over the sound of the maid's vacuum cleaner. He had refused to leave the room while she cleaned, and she clearly did not appreciate him being in the way. "I'm being stonewalled a bit. Do you think I should ask _Mma_ Motalaote of the police for help?"

"Not yet, McGee. I'm not convinced she has our best interests at heart. Keep at it, and call me when you have something. Let me give you the number here."

Tim scribbled it down. "Anything else I should be looking for, boss?"

"Tony keeps going on about diamonds. Check on any thefts of diamonds in the last week or two. I'd hate to think that our seamen were couriers, but we can't rule it out."

"Okay, boss." Tim hung up the phone, and then slumped to the floor as something hard hit his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Ducky was still talking on his cell phone as he and Jimmy stepped out of the hotel elevator. "We're approaching the room now, Jethro. You do understand that we might have been of more help if you'd called us two-and-a-half hours ago, when you say you first couldn't get in touch with Timothy."

On the other end of the line, nearly 600 km away in the Okavango Delta, Gibbs grunted. "I thought he might be in the john or something. I didn't get concerned until over an hour had passed and he still wasn't answering the phone."

Jimmy opened the door to the small suite he shared with Tim and Tony. Ducky pushed past him. "I'm sure there's a simple explanation, Jethro…_Oh, dear."_

Over Gibbs' shouted demands for information, Ducky surveyed the whirlwind-like damage done to the room. "This looks like blood on the floor, Doctor," Jimmy said grimly, crouching near small spots on the carpet.

"_Timothy!"_ Ducky called. "Are you in here?"

Moments later they followed a muffled cry and found Tim bound and gagged, stuffed into the closet.

"Yes, he'll be fine, Jethro," Ducky said on the phone soon afterwards. "A head bump, but there doesn't appear to be a concussion. He's a little sore and a little weak, but otherwise okay. And it's definitely connected with our murdered seamen: the marks of the ropes tying Timothy's hands and ankles appear to my eye to be identical to the marks on the seamen's bodies."

Gibbs grimaced. "Put McGee on."

Tim tried to see straight, despite his pounding head, and gratefully accepted the ibuprofen and glass of water Ducky gave him. He sat once more at the desk. "I'd been writing notes, my thoughts, on a couple of travel brochures I'd picked up at the front desk two days ago, boss. Writing while I was online and making phone calls. I'd written on three or four brochures…and they're all gone. Along with my watch."

There hadn't been much else out, and nothing else worth taking. The computer was there and intact; Tim theorized that the machine's short sleep window, requiring the password to reactivate, kept the intruder(s) from getting anything off it…but he dusted for fingerprints nonetheless. He had nothing else new to share with Gibbs, for the attack had come just after their last phone conversation. "Keep at it," Gibbs ordered.

- - - - -

At the lodge down the path, Tony and Ziva were having some luck, some misfortune in going over the seamen's room. The lodge manager was both useful and a nuisance, and completely in the way most of the time. He claimed to have interacted with the seamen only briefly; they were nice Americans, not too tight with their money, and eager to see all the animals they could. They'd taken one tour on their first day there, another on their second day, and were signed up for one on their third day…and there the trail went cold. That tour operator thought these Englishers (as he called them) might have gotten on, but couldn't say for sure; he picked up people at five different lodges and camp sites and couldn't remember them all. Tony and Ziva talked to him and became satisfied that he couldn't tell the difference between American, English, and French accents.

A break came from speaking with a pair of guests; young women from Germany. About the seamen's ages, they admitted some cheerful flirting with the young men, and having sat with them on the second-day tour. "They were so cute, yes? And we love sailor men. Just as back home. We love them, too."

"We love all men," the second one giggled.

The German women said the seamen had taken lots of pictures of the birds, the magnificent water lilies, and the occasional game that came into view. But that wasn't their only interest…

"I knew it!" Tony cried. "_Diamonds!_ Am I right??"

The women looked unfazed. "Of course. Who does not come to Botswana without talking about diamonds? Some of the largest mines in the world are here," said one.

"Here? In the Delta?" asked Ziva.

"No, mostly in the dry South. And of course one cannot just walk into a diamond mine as a tourist. If you have traveled to lovely Botswana, the Delta wildlife tours are the, ah, 'way to go'."

- - - - -

"Boss, it _was_ diamonds they were after!" Tony reported eagerly as he and Ziva arrived back at their lodge. "We have witnesses who acknowledged it!"

"Tony, they did not say it in that way," Ziva scolded.

"Everyone talks about diamonds, according to Majafhe," said Gibbs. He'd sent the guide on an errand when his team came back; concerned about too much information coming to his ears. "Don't look like that, DiNozzo. You may turn out to be right." He told them of the attack on Tim. "Ducky and Palmer will be here at least another day," he added. "They're not done with the autopsies and the transport has been delayed 24 hours. I hope we can get back to Gaborone before they leave."

"Is McGee going to be okay if left alone, boss?" Tony asked, looking grim.

"Ducky said he's fine, and McGee told me the same thing. There's no call for any of us to go back there early. We have more interviews to do."

"Anyone try talking to the maid who was cleaning our Gaborone hotel room?" Tony persisted.

"McGee was going to do that, once he got a little energy, but I would imagine she's long gone," Gibbs sighed.

- - - - -

In fact, it went down a little differently. Jimmy had listened, appalled, to Tim's account of what he remembered of the affair. Someone, surely, should haul the maid in for questioning—evidently, she'd been _right there!_

Tim only wanted to lie down for a bit until the ibuprofen kicked in. Besides the aches in his head, he ached where he'd been tied up. The Delta, despite the bugs and heat, seemed like a much nicer place to be right now. He fell asleep quickly and didn't notice Jimmy hovering over him then.

In minutes, Jimmy was out of the room, racing for the elevator. He brushed past an aide and threw open the door of the hotel manager's office, which was just behind the reception counter. "Special Agent Jimmy Palmer, of NCIS, of the United States government!" he cried, standing with hips thrust so that the badge at his belt was clearly visible. "I need to talk with the maid who serviced room 207, _now!!"_

Fortunately, the manager was used to dealing with foreign visitors from all over, and little that any of them said to him fazed him. He clucked sympathetically when Jimmy told his story, and offered to call the police, but he could not produce the maid: she'd been there only a week, and had quit abruptly early that afternoon. He willingly gave Jimmy her address, apologizing all the while.

_"Agent Palmer!"_ came a sharp voice.

Jimmy turned to see Tim giving him a cold look. "Uh, thank you, _Rra_ (sir)," Jimmy said to the manager. "I think we can take it from here." Moving on out to where Tim stood with arms folded across his chest, Jimmy muttered, "I was only trying to get things going."

Tim snatched the badge from Jimmy's belt and put it back on his own. "I don't carve up dead people. You don't play cop. Got it?"

"Er, uh, yes, Agent McGee." He endured the headslap with only a wince.

- - - - -

The team at the Delta got to savor native food at supper, and pronounced it wonderful. Fish for Ziva, cultivated game for Gibbs and Tony, and _bogobe_ (sorghum paste, with a consistency like mashed potatoes). To be sure, there were mostly European items on the menu, but the waitress had coaxed them into trying these dishes.

"Hope McGee's getting something good out of room service," said Tony. "If left alone, I think he'd go for the hamburger, fries, and milkshake."

Gibbs beckoned the waitress over and showed her pictures of the seamen. She stared at them in uniforms, and smiled. "Oh, yes, _Rra_. Very handsome Americans. Sailors, yes? Botswana has no navy, you know; just an army. I have never seen the ocean. Someday I would like to."

Like the others they'd talked to, she knew they were very interested in the wildlife and talked about all the pictures they'd taken, even showing her some on their digital cameras.

"Was there anyone that they, ah, hung around with?" asked Ziva.

The waitress thought. "I waited on them two, three times, I think. Our restaurant here is better than the one at their lodge," she said with pride. "Our cook trained in Paris. But yes, there was a man…no, two men…who sat with them at dinner, four or five nights ago."

She wasn't able to name the men, but gave a reasonable description, since the men had made an impression on here. "I did not like them. I try to be modern and not prejudiced, but the men seemed to me to be…cruel. Evil, perhaps, _Rra_." She provided enough information for Tony to make sketches.

Tony took the sketches to fax to Tim, and called him to transmit Gibbs' request that he run them through the usual databases. Even if the US had nothing on them, Interpol might.

"You guys coming back tomorrow?" Tim asked.

"I'll pull a Gibbs and tell you we'll come back when we're done here," Tony said, grinning. "Did you go native for dinner?"

"Oh, yeah," said Tim, looking at the room service tray on the coffee table. "I had, uh, _azzip_ with _egasuas_ and _smoorhsum._ Very native; very delicious."

Tony frowned. "That's not more of your tricky backwards talk, is it? Because if I figure out that it is—"

The connection went dead. Tony thought maybe he'd been had.

- - - - -

Ziva crept outside in the still night, when all others seemed to be asleep. Wise enough to not stray beyond the soft yellow glow of the lodge's front lights, she sat on the grass (having doused herself with bug repellant) and just listened. Not far away, a long-snouted creature looked her way, then went about its business—an aardvark, she decided, and was delighted with the discovery. Then another, somewhat similar, creature appeared, and Ziva had to go to her guidebook. A pangolin, it was; sort of an armor-plated aardvark. Birds she couldn't see or identify sang and cawed in the trees, soothingly. _I wish I had a tape recorder and a long tape. I would love to take these sounds away with me and fall asleep with them._ Then a lion roared, too close by if she could hear it, and she ran inside, dismissing the notion of a tape.

- - - - -

Tim had some answers for them when Gibbs called the next morning. "The maid's address turned out to be fake, and her name may be, too. NCIS had a little information on your guys, but I hit the jackpot with Interpol, boss. Their names are Johannes Brandt and Dietrich Kuefer. German nationals with long, long records. They're hard to pin raps on, but have been suspected of recruiting innocents into doing diamond smuggling for them. Tell Tony I hate to admit it, but—"

Tony heard and grabbed Gibbs' phone. "I'm right! I'm right! I told you it would be diamonds!"

"Looks like it," Gibbs admitted. "But we still need to find these guys. And we don't even have a motive yet." Taking back the phone he said, "McGee? At least eat something native today. Stop playing games."

"Yes, boss," Tim sighed, looking at his cooling plate of eggs, bacon, and a chocolate croissant.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Tim started the day tracing the whereabouts of the diamond men, Brandt and Kuefer. Yes, they'd been in Botswana recently; last arriving two weeks ago, according to the Interpol logs. He could see at least four other arrivals of them in the last six months. They must really love diamonds. To be sure, they registered their travel as being for business, representing a firm that used diamond-tipped cutters. All very legit-sounding.

And there was no record of their departure from their last visit. Tim stared at the screen, then tried to get the passenger manifest from Gaborone Air. No luck there; the airline didn't share this information with other countries, and Tim knew better than to try to hack into any Botswana government sites. He thought and thought.

- - - - -

In half an hour he was back in _Mma_ Dikeledi Motalaote's office, explaining the issue over her now-familiar glare. Gradually her look grew less stony. Tim idly wondered what it would be like to work for a female Gibbs.

She turned to her own computer, and tapped at it. Within minutes she was pulling a sheet of paper out of her printer. "Here you are, _Rra_. They are on the 1400-hour flight to J'burg, tomorrow."

"If they've committed a crime as serious as murder—three murders—they may not come back for a long while," Tim remarked soberly. "Can't your people pick them up at the airport?"

"And charge them with what, _Rra_? It is still only suspicion. And I tell you, I would be just as happy if they did not come back for a long time. But you, you are law enforcement, _Rra_. You know how it works. If you can find some evidence, something for a charge that we can take to court, we will arrest them."

Tim thanked her and left. To be sure, the US could always ask for extradition of the two men from Germany once they returned, with evidence, but that would mean Germany would have to find them. If indeed they could be linked to the crime. No, better to get them while they were still in Botswana. That meant they had only a day to do so.

- - - - -

"Is that a hippo? I think that's a hippo!" Tony said eagerly, his camera raised.

"That is a hippo, yes, Tony," said Ziva, focusing her own camera. "Now stop jostling me."

"You have hippos in Israel?"

"In the zoos."

"Stop rocking the boat, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped. They were on a tour; the last one that the three seamen had taken. The first part of the five-hour tour was by mini-bus, but this was by motor boat. Five other people had signed up for the tour, but only two had chosen to take the boat part; the other three were doing a short hike with the assistant tour guide. Gibbs' team had decided not to split up, since they'd been assured by the tour guide that the seamen had done the boat trip. Now they were looking for clues to the drowning.

The trouble was, water was everywhere. Without more information, it seemed impossible to determine where the men had died.

Much less, why.

Gibbs watched Tony and Ziva laughing and taking pictures. He sat silent, pensive, knowing there must be a clue somewhere…

Back on land, it was much the same. Many pictures were taken of birds and the brightly-colored flowers. Ziva took a picture of Tony, smiling, standing before a tree, unaware that a monkey just above him was about to drop fruit on him. Gibbs grinned at that.

He reached for his cell phone, and for the twentieth time, put it back. There was no coverage out here. Majafhe would be waiting by the landline phone at the lodge in case Tim or Ducky called. "Come on, you two," he called. "Let's get back to the lodge."

"Last one to the bus is leopard food!" cried Tony, dashing for it. He skidded to a sudden stop on seeing a real leopard in the trees, and Ziva crashed into him. Gibbs' only photo of the trip, and his triumph, was a picture of them in that tangled heap.

- - - - -

One thing that bugged Tim was why the seamen's bodies had been moved all the way from the Delta (since it seemed now certain that that was where they had drowned) to near Gaborone, around 600 km. If it was simply a matter of murder, why not leave them in the Delta? Would it be because they might be found quickly? It seemed more likely that they were dropped in eastern Botswana to draw attention away from the Delta. Sure, it would be evident that they had drowned…but the further away from the vast Delta one got, the less likely the place of death would be. Perhaps the killer(s) thought that the scavengers might destroy most of the evidence.

But something had happened out there in the Delta; something that the killer, or killers, was trying to hide. Were the seamen in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or were they caught up in something shady?

He hiked down to the seamen's hotel. "Oh, _Dumela, Rra_! (Hello, sir!)" he said in surprise at seeing the manager of his own hotel chatting with the desk clerk. Hastily he added the traditional morning greeting, "_O tsogile jang?_ (Did you sleep well?)"

The manager responded in kind, and with a smile on Tim's using the Setswana. "You can also say, '_O kae_?', which is a little less formal term. You would say, I think, 'How are you?'"

Tim repeated it a few times, softly, committing it to memory. "I wanted to see our seamen's room again—are you connected with this hotel as well?"

"Yes, our company owns both properties. I help out here as needed. Margaret, get _Rra_ McGee the key to room 108, please."

- - - - -

In the room, Tim went over the surfaces. All of the seamen's belongings had been packed up by Tony and Ziva yesterday, including the contents of the waste baskets. But was there something else…?

He tried to imagine the men's thoughts. Arrived in Botswana. According to what Tony and Ziva had learned, they spent their first day here harmlessly sightseeing and buying guide books to the Delta. No mention of diamonds, but a poor E-1 sailor might find it hard to resist a gem, if offered it as part of the pay for doing a little diamond smuggling. So if Brandt and Kuefer were diamond smugglers, what were they doing clear across the country in the Delta, when the diamond mines were closer to Gaborone?

Had the seamen made it at all to the diamond mines? No; they'd drowned. And their bodies were dumped near Gaborone.

Tim peered under a bed. Something small was there…He shone his pocket penlight on it, then stretched to reach it. A little figurine of a lion, stamped _Souvenir of Botswana_. Maybe it had been intended as a gift for a younger brother or sister, or niece or nephew. _They must really have liked animals…_

- - - - -

Lunch, in a busy café in downtown Gaborone, offered too many things (mostly meat things) that smelled oh-so-tempting. Tim sat in air-conditioned comfort with a plate of _matemekwane_ (dumplings) with grilled chicken and _marula_ melon. He took a picture of the serving to prove he'd purchased native food, and then gobbled the delicious food down, with half a mind to buy a second serving.

His phone rang. Ducky, calling to say that they were done with the pre-autopsy work, and were heading back to the hotel to pack. Once the paperwork had been done to release the bodies for shipment, he and Jimmy would head for the air base to meet the US military transport.

"Did you find anything else on the bodies?" Tim asked.

"Not really. Small scratches on the hands and arms, consistent with a trip to the Delta, I would surmise. Oh, well. See you back in Washington, Timothy."

Seconds later the phone rang again. Gibbs. "We've gone through everything we can think of here. The only flight we could get out today is the last one from the city of Maun. It'll be 9 or so before we land in Gaborone. Anything new?"

Tim told him what he'd learned and surmised, which seemed woefully inadequate. It would be a shame to go back to the US with the case unsolved, but that's where it seemed to be headed. They were stumped, and time was finite.

- - - - -

Arriving back at his own hotel, Tim nodded to the manager, who was back where Tim was used to seeing him. Tim found that Ducky and Jimmy had already packed and gone. As he'd been told to, Tim transferred Gibbs' things to the small suite Tim shared with Tony so they could relinquish one of the hotel rooms.

Again he went over the Interpol data on the Germans. Everything pointed to diamonds. So did NCIS have to surmise that the seamen had been willing participants in the operation? All three men had unblemished records. If they were going to participate, why kill them? What had gone down wrong? Were they about to turn the Germans in? That would be a motive for murder.

When, around 5:30 Gibbs hadn't called again, Tim went out for dinner. This time he was after _chotlho_, a beef dish soaked in salt water until tender. Served with vegetables and _magwinya_ (fat bread) and this time watermelon (a food thought to have originated in Botswana! his waitress said proudly), he was in bliss. _I hope we don't leave Botswana before we get to try more native food…_

He lingered over dinner, and it was full dark when he got back to the hotel. The manager stopped him. "Ah, _Rra_, there was a phone call for you a little while ago. From _Rra_ Gibbs. He said there was a change in plans, and asked you to drive out to Sekoma to meet your team."

"What, did they somehow get an earlier flight?" Tim said mostly to himself.

"I do not know, _Rra_. That was all he said. Drive out and meet him. There is a café there; the _Elephant Grounds_. That is where they are. Here, you may have this map."

"Okay. _Ke itumetse._ (Thank you.) _Sala sentle_ (Goodbye; stay well.)"

"_Tsamaya sentle_ (Go well.)"

- - - - -

Sekoma was about 150 km west of Gaborone, heading toward the diamond mines. _Gibbs must have tied the case into the diamonds_, Tim thought as he pulled out of the city's bright lights. _I wish he'd left more information. Why didn't he call my cell, though? Maybe I was in a dead zone and didn't know it._

Once outside the city and suburbs, streetlights vanished. He was on the open, asphalt highway, with only the minivan's lights to guide him. No wonder the hotel parking valet had urged him to use caution: even on high, the car beams only went so far. The moon was new, and Tim felt like he was driving in a closet. He was grateful for the road signs that popped up now and again.

The accident came without warning. Tim, driving at 80 kph, only saw a dark mass for an instant before he was thrown toward the windshield—no airbag, but at least the seatbelt held. The van lurched and rolled over and over, coming to rest finally on its side off the highway in the scrub brush.

Tim took a moment to orient himself. He ached where he'd been thrown back and forth in the rolling, and from banging into the steering wheel. He tasted blood in his mouth. _What did I hit? I must have hit something. Another car?_ With difficulty he climbed out of the vehicle, and by the dim ambient light went back to the highway, where he tripped and fell over the mass before he saw it. _An animal. A springbok or tsessebe or something._ _Oh, God, I'm so sorry, poor creature._ It wasn't moving at all. He hoped it was dead and not still alive and suffering.

And he was now stuck out here, some 50 km outside the city. The van probably wasn't drivable after that collision, even if it were upright. _I'll have to wait for rescue…_

The sounds came from a little further off. Roars: lions? Barks: hyenas? Scavengers, getting the scent of fresh blood. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see their shapes.

Tim looked down, feeling the dampness seeping through his clothes. _And I have dead animal blood all over me…_

- - - - -

On the flight from Maun, Tony turned to Ziva. "It's a shame Probie wasn't along. I got some great pictures today!"

Ziva smiled. "Yes, but knowing him, there would have been a dozen things in the Delta that he would be allergic to."

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, probably. But still, he missed a chance to get up close and personal with wild animals!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The hotel rooms were dark when Gibbs, Ziva and Tony returned. "Where's our Probie?" Tony wondered. Gibbs only grunted, but did get out his cell phone.

"He's not answering his phone," Gibbs said. "I thought this city was supposed to have good coverage. There shouldn't be many dead zones."

"What's he doing out now, anyway?" Tony pressed. "It's after 9."

"And he said nothing to us about going out," said Ziva.

Tony grinned a little. "I feel like a parent waiting for their teenager to come home. If he's so much as put a ding in the car—!"

Ziva caught her breath. "The car! If he has taken the van outside the city for some reason—"

"—he'd be outside the cell phone coverage," Gibbs finished. "Ziva, check to see if our van is in the lot. DiNozzo—"

"I'll find Majafhe."

Gibbs fretted when his team ran off. _Now why didn't I call McGee from Maun, before we got on the plane?_

- - - - -

In minutes they were all in the hotel lobby; Ziva with the parking valet, and Tony with Majafhe, whom he'd found in the bar, having a beer before going home to his wife.

"I tried telling him, _Rra_," said the valet, visibly upset. "Driving in the countryside at night; it is not wise. Most people do not do it."

"Why?" Ziva asked.

"Did he say where he was going, or why?" asked Gibbs.

"He said Sekoma. It is a town to the west, approaching the diamond mines. About two hours' drive in daylight. He asked me to point out the best route by map."

"He didn't give any reason for this?"

"Only that his boss told him to meet him there."

The team looked at each other. Tim had been duped.

Tony cleared his throat. "You said it wasn't wise to be driving at night. Why is that?"

Majafhe answered. "The asphalt roads, they keep the heat of the day. Animals find it comfortable when night cools the air. They are attracted to the roads and sometimes lie down there. A driver often cannot see them until there is no time to stop."

"McGee's been set up for asking too many questions," Gibbs said grimly. "_Rra_ Majafhe, we'll need another car. Immediately."

- - - - -

Time stretched and contracted. Animals approached: first the lions, the kings of the beasts. A male lion led the slow procession, his mane large and flowing. A low, grumbling roar came from his throat.

The van was the only shelter. Taking care not to move too quickly, Tim edged back to the van and climbed back into it. The window, which he'd been able to lower while the engine still had a little juice, was now stuck in the lowered position. Tim struggled and struggled with the control, but it was no use. He was a sitting duck. _Oh, poor choice of words. What if they eat ducks?_

The lions descended on the animal Tim's van had hit. A little ways off, shapes that must be hyenas lurked. They would not dare come forward until the lions had had their fill. Tim prayed that the beast would be enough for all of them.

_Stop worrying,_ he told himself, as a thought came to him. _The guide books say animals don't look to eat humans. We're not part of their food chain, so they don't think of us…_

…_I sure hope these critters have read those books…_

He considered taking off his shirt and throwing it out the window. But if the animals were attracted by scent, enough of the blood scent would still be on him.

_Got to make myself as hard to get to as I can…_ He climbed over the front seat into the back. As least the windows were still intact and up in the back. But the smaller lions, and maybe the hyenas, could still get through the rolled-down window up front. Tim looked around in desperation for something big to stuff in the window. Nothing. The van was too neat. _I don't want to die like this…_Shooting an animal had to be a serious deal. Tim would do it if he was attacked. Maybe that would be enough to frighten the others off. If not…well, he'd have to count the bullets, and save one…

He curled up in the seat, and waited…

- - - - -

Gibbs let Majafhe drive the sedan he'd hastily arranged for. Majafhe, while saying he didn't like the nighttime countryside drives, at least was familiar with them. It was hoped his eyes would be better able to spot potential collisions. After a fork of the road about 20 km out of Gaborone, they only encountered two other vehicles, both large trucks that had less to worry about collisions with animals.

Ziva, riding in the front seat with Majafhe, had good eyes. "I think I see something! In the road and off to the side."

The sedan slowed, and its high beams reflected in the eyes of a couple lions looking their way. The lions made low roars and walked off.

"Careful," Majafhe urged. "It is not safe yet. Fire your gun into the air a few times."

Ziva rolled down her window and did so. Hyenas dashed away, and the lions followed at a trot.

The agents sprang out of the car, Gibbs with a flashlight in hand, and ran for the van. In less than a minute they had Tim out, while Majafhe cried over the rented van.

"Good grief, Probie; you just…lay down, and we'll get an ambulance," Tony gulped. "You're gonna be all right."

Tim looked down at the bloody blotches all over his clothes and had to laugh. "Not my blood, Tony. I'm okay; really. But what are you guys doing here? I was going to meet you in Sekoma." He saw their dubious looks. "What?"

"McGee," said Gibbs. "You read crime novels. Don't you know when you've been had?"

- - - - -

They went to the hotel long enough for Tim to clean up and change clothes, sneaking him in the back way to avoid the hotel manager. Then, sneaking back out, it was time to visit again the assistant chief of police. When they presented their case to the duty officer, he nodded and phoned her, despite the fact that it was almost 11 p.m. It was part of an ongoing case, he said, and she would certainly want to be in on it.

Indeed, _Mma_ Motalaote was even smiling when she arrived—a smile that could kill, Tim thought. "You have solved the case of your dead sailors?"

"We think so, _Mma," _said Tim."It's related to diamond smuggling…but also, and more so, to poaching."

"The rest of us just got back from the Delta," said Tony. "Of course, the tourists love the animals there. No one in their right mind would want to make a pet of, say, a full grown leopard, but a leopard cub? Irresistible."

Ziva added, "We heard some of the locals in the Delta say that a den of three lion cubs had been found a week ago. The mother had apparently died. Maybe poachers got her."

"Now suppose you were Brandt and Kuefer," Gibbs put in. "You don't live here. You need help from someone who does, who can help find tourists to smuggle out your diamonds."

"Like your nasty hotel manager," _Mma_ Motalaote said thoughtfully, for they had already told her about Tim's misguided road trip. "He looks for likely smugglers among the guests at his hotels."

"Yes. Now let's suppose that the seamen seem ideal. But they have principals against stealing property, or maybe have a healthy fear of jail, so they refuse to do it. In the end, though, they agree to do it. On one condition."

"Our medical examiner found little scratches on the hands and arms of all three men," said Tim. "He didn't think much of it; figured they'd gotten them while hiking in the Delta. But I'm sure that with testing, we'll find these are claw marks. Marks made by little lion cubs."

"They were going to smuggle out the diamonds, provided that Brandt and Kuefer helped them smuggle out the adorable lion cubs," said Ziva. "What fools," she added, under her breath.

"And for that, Brandt and Kuefer killed them," said Tony. "Diamonds are just things. Money doesn't have a soul. Many people don't necessarily see a little larceny as a crime. But stealing animals out of the wild?"

"Our people would not stand for that," said _Mma_ Motalaote. "There would be a long line waiting to avenge the animals. I myself would be toward the front of the line. And yes, Brandt and Kuefer have paid enough visits here that they may have felt that way. It hardly excuses their other actions in the diamond smuggling, and of course not the murders, but…"

"Poor guys," said Tony, thinking of the seamen. "They were almost able to avoid temptation."

"Where are the lion cubs now?" Gibbs asked.

_Mma_ Motalaote thought. "I do not know," she said. "Still in the Delta, I hope…" She picked up her phone. A few minutes later, she hung up. "The cubs have not been seen in five days. Someone took them. Our precious gems."

Gibbs said, "Maybe you have a second reason to keep Brandt and Kuefer from boarding their plane tomorrow."

- - - - -

They were picked up at the airport, Brandt and Kuefer, with the cubs in two cat carrying cases. The cubs' fur had been trimmed a little and dyed, and they wore tiny outfits made for cats (for cat owners brave enough to try to dress up their cats). By claiming that the cubs were a rare breed of housecat, Brandt and Kuefer had convinced all the authorities of it. They might have been horrified that the seamen wanted to lion-nap the cubs from beloved Botswana…but with the seamen out of the picture, the cubs did represent a great opportunity.

And the false bottoms in the cases hid a nice set of diamonds.

- - - - -

"Aw, c'mon, Probie! Take a look! These pictures are magnificent! If I say so myself!"

Tim pushed away the digital camera Tony was holding, sighing. It was a 17+ hour flight back to Washington, and he knew Tony would try again. And again. "Really, Tony; I saw more animals than I wanted to see. Ask me in a week or so."

"They are good pictures, McGee," said Ziva. "Tony is a better photographer than I am."

"I," Tony preened in his seat, "am the champ."

"Nope, got one that beats yours," said Gibbs, pulling out his camera. "McGee, look at this one."

- END -


End file.
